Jupiter
by Mystrieux Padme
Summary: What happens when you mix Anakin and Padme, after a night of dancing and drinking?


"Padme?" he whispered, his voice horse with lust and alcohol. She blinked twice, almost closing her slowly drooping eyes again. He looked down at her collar and saw her crisp black blouse, wrinkled from too much dancing and the sleeves pulled back to where he could see the almost translucent paper-white flesh of her arms.   
"Hmm?" Anakin placed an arm behind her shoulders and reached up with his right hand to press lightly with his index finger against the delicately white topmost button on the collar. He ran his thumb over it, and she looked down at his hand. La soif immortelle du coeur à être completly savent et tout indulgent...  
"What would happen if I unbuttoned this top button?" he whispered again, slowly. The button was between his fingers, slick and smooth and cold. He could feel her chest rising beneath his fingers at rhythmic intervals, slow and calm and unfazed.   
"What, indeed..." came her answer. The room seemed cool, it would have seemed right if an icy chill interupted the haze; blues and greens and turquoise stood out. The rest a blur, that both soon grew tired just trying to see the difference in the shadowed shapes. Anakin twisted the button back and forth between his fingers, still looking the beautiful girl directly in the eyes. And slid the button very carefully through the hole.   
"But..." he continued whispering, licking his chapped lips, "What would happen if I unbuttoned all these buttons?" The pearl disc was round and flat and so small...Padme's nose almost touched his and the robust mixture of cherries, cocktail olives and wine and other alchohol was almost unbearable.   
"I don't know," she whispered back, her lips brushing smooth silk against his parched mouth. "And I think I'm far too tipsy to even care what could--or would--happen." They continued this way, whipsering, through the process of her shirt being unbuttoned.  
The rest happened quickly...the kisses became urgent like oxygen. Lust coursed through their veins. Soon Padme's shirt wasn't the only thing unbuttoned. Hands glided, skating invisble paths on the other's skin. Lips touched anything they could find, devoring it as a wolf it's catch. Their souls were on fire, each touch, kiss, and word sent their emotions reeling. Sexe: une émotion dans le mouvement. Naked bodies, warm and sweaty, pressed into one. Lips exploring the smooth bodies as they lay there touching the other. Un bon amour est délicieux, vous ne peut pas obtenir assez trop tôt. Il vous incite si fou vous à vouloir avaler la lune. Their hands are like two travelers, they've crossed oceans and lands. Yet they are so small on the continent of their skin. Wandering, they could spend all their life traveling the length of their bodies each night. The dim lights of our small, perfect little room, made for only us. The sound of silence broken only by an uncontrolable moan. Gentle loving movements towards ever loving bodies. L'amour n'est une flamme, ni timide ni docile. Thoughts concentrated only on each other as our breathing becomes harder. The feeling of intense pleasure as you touch me everywhere. The slight pain, a moan, pleasure and in the middle of it all a gasp with a sloppy kiss.  
  
Beauty seen for moments fleeting   
does make young men's hearts start beating,   
out across this wide blue ocean,   
leaving tracks of new emotion.   
Bloody lust is taking over.   
Finding luck without a clover   
is the trick that's hard to master.   
Baiting new blood, moving faster!   
Rowing faster 'cross this ocean!   
Joints now creaking, with each motion!   
Rising waves! Emotions cresting!   
With each swell comes further meshing!   
Lovers joining, unions forming!   
Hearts now beating, bodies warming...   
  
...Pull apart and disentangle,   
for her love does sometimes mangle,   
thus destroying this night's dreaming.   
Cast away this lovely seeming.   
  
Beauty seen for moments fleeting,   
now is gone and without meaning.  
  
It had been all roses, a lavender haze. But was it all a lie because they had benn like whiskey bottles the night before : all neck and belly and no head ? Was it all unture ? Was their night of love as unture as an existing Utopia ?  
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La soif immortelle du coeur à être completly savent et tout indulgent... - the immortal thirst for the heart to being completly know and very lenient/forgiven.  
Sexe: une émotion dans le mouvement.-Sex : an emotion in motion.  
Un bon amour est délicieux, vous ne peut pas obtenir assez trop tôt. Il vous incite si fou vous à vouloir avaler la lune.- a good love is delicious, you can't get enough too soon. It makes you so crazy you want to swallow the moon.  
L'amour n'est une flamme, ni timide ni docile.-Love is a flame, niether timid nor tame  



End file.
